


Beautiful Togetherness

by marzar



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, NSFW, Oneshot, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Slash, Smut, Trojan War, War, kind of, pairing - Freeform, tsoa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7619581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzar/pseuds/marzar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patroclus reached for his face, like the mortal Icarus reaching for the burning, godlike sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Togetherness

**Author's Note:**

> This took me a while to write. I tried to emulate the same style of characterization Madeline miller uses in her beautiful story. Emphasis on tried. If there are any errors, please, don't hesitate to let me know!
> 
> Enjoy!

Patroclus walked back to Achilles and his’ tent, tiredness seeping into his bones with every step. Even under the darkened sky and small torch light, you could see the deep bags forming under his eyes. The way his cheekbones seemed a bit more sunken in. The weeks battles had been particularly gruesome. Patroclus hardly had a moment of leisure, tending to the injured most days, sometimes through the night. Even with Briesies offering what little help she could, it wasn’t enough. He had witnessed many good men die that week.  
When he arrived at the familiar cloth door to the tent and reached out, he grimaced at the sight of his dirt and blood caked hands. It embarrassed him a little, knowing that the rest of him probably looked just as filthy. He opened the tent a bit reluctantly, unsure if he should even attempt to wash a little before letting Achilles see him so filthy. Ultimately, however, he decided he was to tired to care. Achilles was used to blood and filth by now, surely.  
He walked in to find a leisurely Achilles, fine limbs sprawled about their bed gracefully. With all the fighting, Patroclus would say Achilles looked tired. That is if he didn’t know any better. Achilles didn’t get tired. His face was illuminated by the lamp light, elegant and cool as ever. His eyes were closed as if he were asleep, but Patroclus knew this was not the case. His cheeks were tinged a slight pink. The room smelled of sandalwood and wine. He had probably been drinking a little.  
When he heard the slight rustle of Patroclus’ tired feet enter, he smiled, eyes still closed.  
“We have seen each other little, this past week.” He noted.  
Patroclus grunted in response. He was too tired to form anything coherent.  
Achilles impish smile faded. His brows knitted together, and opened his eyes in a flutter of golden lashes.  
“Is everything….” He stopped when he saw Patroclus.  
“Is it that bad?” Patroclus looked down at his arms. When he moved them, the dried fluids of other men cracked and feathered like a desert. He turned to stand in front of a mirror opposite of himself. He wishes he could say he was at all shocked by what he saw, but he wasn’t. After almost a full week with almost no sleep, up to his neck in the dead and the dying….one could understand why.  
Achilles stood, then. He walked over to a water basin, his fingers carefully wetting a cloth. He turned back to the bed. “Sit,” he said.  
Patroclus nodded and followed Achilles to sit beside him on the soft fur of their bed. He sighed as he curled his legs up underneath him, grateful for the comfort of finally being able to sit after a week of straight work. Achilles gently picked up one of his hands, and carefully rubbed away the grime in soft circles. The sensation was so calming, Patroclus was grateful that he had decided not to wash beforehand. He closed his eyes.  
“I did not realize the effect of this week might have on you.” Achilles said suddenly, as if he were apologizing for something. Patroclus ached a little at the quietness of his voice.  
“Someone must tend to the injured.” He said. “I am only glad to do what I can.”  
Achilles looked up and held his eyes, as if he were searching for something. The air between them seemed to still, and Patroclus felt like a young boy again. He had not realized how much he had missed those forest green eyes. Seeing Achilles like this, it was different than their less intimate meetings. When he looked at him, he did not see the fearsome Aristos Achaion. The man who could kill hundreds without breaking a sweat. He saw a soft thing, a gentle loving thing. Patroclus’ heart bloomed in his chest.  
“I have missed you.” He whispered.  
“I am here now.” Achilles replied. He reached up to rub the cloth over Patroclus’s jaw. Patroclus could feel the cool water run down his neck. Achilles was so close to him, he could feel his breath making the droplets cooler still. His own breath seemed to catch in his throat.  
Achilles moved to his collarbone, moving the damp fabric painfully slow against the sensitive skin there. His eyes were fixed on it, the lines of his face deep as if he were concentrating hard. Concentrating on nothing but Patroclus. Patroclus could no longer feel how cool the water was, he could only feel the growing heat of his own skin.  
“Achilles,” he said.  
He did not answer. He simply kept washing, removing pieces of Patroclus’s clothing to clean his chest. He was amazed at how a man as beautiful and Godlike as Achilles could make him feel like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. Achilles rubbed the cloth across his breast, moving around every fold of tanned flesh. Patroclus had grown much since the beginning of the war, in mentality and physique. His skin was not pulled tightly across his smaller frame. Though his muscle was less prominent than Achilles, he could no longer say it was not there. His muscle involuntarily flexed after every careful stroke of Achilles hand. Achilles rubbed the cloth down his stomach, even though it was clear that no dirt was there.  
“Achilles.”  
Achilles’s hand stopped. He looked up at Patroclus, as if he were only just now hearing him.  
“I’m sorry.” He said, as he moved away from Patroclus. “You must be tired.”  
The lamplight flickered dimly, casting their large shadows across the walls of the tent. Before Achilles could distance himself further, Patroclus grabbed his wrist. Their eyes met again, and Achilles understood. It was funny, how they could have a whole conversation in a single glance. Achilles nodded, and he moved closer.  
Patroclus reached for his face, like the mortal Icarus reaching for the burning, godlike sun.  
He brushed his thumb across Achilles sharp cheekbone. Achilles skin was warm, the pad of Patroclus’s thumb buzzing from the contact. He leaned in and caught Achilles mouth with his, the taste of wine and fruit still lingering on his lips. His mouth opened up for him, and Patroclus heard and felt Achilles release a small sigh of contentment.  
Patroclus moved to kiss the corner of his mouth, trailing peck upon peck down to his jaw. He snaked one hand to the back of Achilles neck, gently guiding his head back to expose more of his neck. After years of this, this beautiful thing they had, Patroclus begin to know Achilles body. Every spot that would make him tremble and buzz. When he found a spot on the God-son’s neck, he smiled against it. Enjoying the slight hitch in Achilles’s breath. Not everyone could say that they made Aristos Achaion shudder.  
Maybe it was because he was tired, maybe it was because he longed to see Achilles contort in pleasure, he didn't know. But softly, he bit down in the spot.  
Achilles reached up a hand and gripped Patroclus’s shoulders. He let out an audible gasp, and Patroclus froze. He looked up.  
“Did I hurt you?” He asked. He felt stupid, nothing could hurt him.  
Achilles looked at him, his eyes a darkened green. Like the deeper parts of the sea. “No.”  
So Patroclus did it again.  
Again, Achilles let out a little breathy noise. What other noises could he produce, Patroclus wondered, a devious grin erupting on his face.  
Patroclus swept his tongue down his prominent adam's apple, feeling the way it moved slightly under his touch. With the hand not holding the back of Achilles neck, he rubbed circles into the piece of Achilles hip that jutted out like finely cut marble. Achilles nudged impatiently closer to him.  
With some difficulty, Patroclus tore himself away from Achilles neck. He stood from the bed to kneel in front of the edge of their bed, using a gentle hand to part Achilles legs before him.  
He peppered soft kisses along the inside of his thigh.  
“Is this alright?” He asked.  
Achilles laughed one of his warm laughs. “Yes.”  
“And this?” Patroclus smiled before peppering kisses along his other thigh.  
“Yes,” he said a little breathier.  
“This?” He asked as he kissed along his length, taking it into his mouth.  
Achilles said his name in response, as if in prayer. “Patroclus.”  
Patroclus moved his mouth painfully slow, wanting to savor every moment of Achilles. He loved to see him like this, so enveloped in Patroclus’s touch that nothing else seemed to matter. In this moment, there was no war. There was no prophecy. There were no angry Gods. There was only Achilles.  
He felt a strong hand tangle into his hair, gripping. Not enough to hurt, just enough to feel strained. He could hear Achilles breath quicken with every movement of his mouth on him.  
“Wait- wait…” He heard Achilles pant.  
“Whats wrong?”  
“Nothing.” Achilles replied. “I only fear you do not get much out of this.”  
Patroclus was stunned. “I get to touch you. It is enough.”  
“Not for me, it is not.” He said, untangling his hand from Patroclus’s mess of earth colored curls and moving it to rest on his cheek. “Let me.”  
Patroclus considered for a moment and then nodded. He would do anything Achilles asked without a thought. That was how it has always been with them.  
Achilles guided him back on the bed. He helped Patroclus tug off the rest of his clothing. He pulled them so close together, that Patroclus was almost sitting on his lap. He brushed the pads of his fingers along Patroclus’s collarbone. He had always liked to touch him there.  
He took the hand he had been using to do this, and moved it to rest on the small of his back. With his other hand, he grabbed hold of Patroclus’s length. He did not move his hand at first, instead he just rubbed the pad of his thumb over the tip. The feeling was pleasurable, but agonizingly slow. Patroclus bit his lip.  
“You know,” Achilles said, “you are beautiful like this.”  
Patroclus was slightly taken aback. Achilles was this thing of pure light. And yet, he called him beautiful? He wanted to respond, just as he was going to a sharp tug of Achilles hand caught the words in his throat.  
Achilles elegant hand felt like fire on him. Every movement and jerk seemed to add to the growing heat in Patroclus’s belly. He panted like he had just completed a race. Dribbles of white fluid began to leak from him. And Patroclus knew it wouldn't be long until-  
Suddenly, Achilles stopped. Patroclus cracked open his eyes slowly, unaware when he had even closed them in the first place. He looked at the other man, eyes taking in every ounce of him. Achilles eyes raked over Patroclus in much of the same way. If he hadn’t known Achilles loved him the way he did, Patroclus may have felt self conscious. It was hard not to compare his body to Achilles statuesque form. He felt a hand on the small of his back, inching him closer. Their eyes locked as Achilles took them both into his hand.

Patroclus gasped, the contact making his spine buzz. He placed his own hand on top of Achilles, both moving together like clockwork. Achilles brow furrowed and Patroclus bent forward to rest his head on the broad shoulder of his Aristos Achaion. He groaned when their hands picked up their pace. A fog of ecstasy clouding his mind, he mumbled a stream of “Gods,” and “i love you’s” feverishly into Achilles ear. They were so close, Patroclus could feel the fast flutter of Achilles’ heart pounding against his chest. 

“Patroclus,” He could hear through the fog, “You are perfect.”

And this was the thing that sent him spiraling over the edge. He came with a great shudder, back arching. He could hardly hear past the blood roaring in his ears. The only reason he knew Achilles had followed suit was when he felt the wetness all over his hand. For a moment they just sat there, breathing, holding one another like it was the last thing they were ever going to do. 

After a moment, Achilles guided Patroclus into a laying position. His body began to relax into sleep, but before he drifted to oblivion, he felt a strong arm wrap around him. The heat of Achilles body warming and protecting him like a blanket.

They awoke hours later as the sunlight danced on their faces. Both feeling as contented as they could be.


End file.
